Twisted dreams foretell of transformation. I dream of living, working and being mundane. Plain sad face like sun softened cheese runs slack; jowls and cheek. In this I see the future. No more words fitting for deaf ears, no face for blind eyes. What wind has caught me carries me on and into itself, emerging I am changed.
No blessings or baptisms, pain and sadness douse me and reform sombre moods to joy. Visions of truth that drip slow constant water torture rhythms into hollowed self. I no longer know, feel or think; I am. Through untold gates I pass in all directions, entering and leaving both. No paradox in being.
I remember laughing, eons ago in the dead places. Green to right and grey to left, legs bare; I was smaller, and happy. I have become too liquid, soft and sad, shifting in quiet solitude. Yellow doesn't suit her they say and I've forgotten what yellow was. I do not try to remember. Blow out the candle and sit a while, listen with me and be. I change, I do not know what or how or why or when or if. I do not know, and am blank.
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